The Oracle
by Prof. Omnom
Summary: A vision is granted. The galaxy turns. The gods laugh and blood rains from the heavens. Perhaps fate is best left unseen?
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Don't sue me Games-Workshop.

The smoke cascaded framed her face, floating up towards the ceiling. An attendant had come just a few minutes earlier to inform her of the most recent supplicant of her temple. He was apparently a man of great standing, a king no less, so it would not do to look anything other than the very picture of mystique. Gathering her robes around her, she slowly knelt with her back facing the path up towards the temple. As the sound of slapping foot steps approached, she double-checked to make sure that the fumes were still properly gathering.

The sandal clad footsteps stopped a scant few meters behind her. With the barely audible rustling of a cloak and jewlery, the man began to talk.

"Great Oracle, Handmaiden of Apollo, Seer of the Gods, Predictor of Seasons-"

Ah yes, laying the flattery on thick was he? Well, it certainly wouldn't help him much. The closest she'd ever gotten to a vision from the Gods was when she once drank too much wine during the festival of Dionysus and spent the next day throwing up into a bucket. Oh, certainly, she had once believed in the Gods, still believed in them really. But as to whether or not they gave visions? She had spent long enough as a priestess to know that it was all horse-shit. From the sound of it he was wrapping up his title-bashing session, so she quickly shook herself from her brief reverie.

"- and Most Esteemed of all Priestesses. I come with a question for the Gods."

"Speak, and they most powerful shall hear you" She intoned with as much gravitas as she could muster.

"I go to battle against the Great Hakamanesh Empire. I would seek the counsel of the Gods on this matter. I ask them, what shall happen if I march alone against them."

Rather quickly onto the next part then. She was honestly expecting more gesticulating and flowery language, but she wasn't one to complain so long as it was all over faster. This was admittedly her least favourite part. The smoke that billowed out from the crack in the ground nauseated her, and she often had to spend the next few hours coughing out her lungs. As long as she was fairly quick in thinking up a sufficiently vague answer, she could avoid the worst of it. Turning on her heel, she drove her face into the mist. Breathing deeply, she opened her mouth to begin her prophecy.

And then she fell.

* * *

Her vision expanded, the peripherals of her vision receding. To her, it was akin to no other experience in her life, nor would it be an experience any other human would feel for many thousands of years to come. Time itself slid before her eyes, strings and wires spreading out to encompass the entire earth. As the seasons rushed past and the lives sped by, she saw what was to come.

The warriors of Sparta, holding together in the face a gargantuan horde. A great building of stone and marble, sat atop a cliff-face. A man on horse-back who fought and destroyed and won battle after battle, bringing thousands into the fold of his empire. The familiar sights were gone now. New, fantastical visions assaulted her.

Ranks upon ranks of men, clad in red. Marching in lock-step and wielding swords of iron. A golden eagle soared above them, as they claimed the seas themselves. Time sped past faster now. Giants, with great cudgels and swords of gleaming metal. They squabbled amongst themselves over the damp corpse of a long-dead empire. A flash of red and then blue. Wands that breathed fire and spewed lead. Ships and sails that dwarfed the ships of current.

New worlds, different people. Time sped up. A behemoth made of iron, roaring and bellowing as it throwing itself down a road of metal. Soot and smoke that blanketed a city of red in ash. Millions choking and screaming as they died in mud and water, theirs lungs melting as their eyes dissolved. A flash of green. A great fire, burning and cleansing so that not even ash remained of its victims.

A pillar of flame, launched at first an intrepid few, and then a torrent of people into the skies themselves. Perhaps the Gods were waiting for them there. Worlds unknown and stars that had never shone on human skin. Worlds turned green and lush, where once they were barren and bleak. Creatures that seemed too strange and uncanny to even exist. Men of Iron and Stone, who stood beside one another as they eased the woes of mankind. Then there came a great calamity.

Trillions, wiped out in nary an instant. Ranks upon ranks upon ranks of Iron Men, enough to blanket a world. Fire and death came to the galaxy, leaving naught but ruins and echoes in its wake. A flash of purple. A weeping hole torn in reality. Stars dimmed and the world became dark. A darkness yet unseen clawed at the peoples of all worlds. As night descended, all hope died.

Then, a flash of gold. The light brought itself across every corner of the darkened globe, bringing all into its' warming fold. It began to blaze brightly as it was joined more and more beacons of hope. A maelstrom of colour snatched up the stars, and cast them across the benighted skies. The light dimmed, then roared back to life, burning with a great fervour. More worlds sunk into its' embrace.

As the first burning torch was reclaimed by the light, it light up enough to blot out the darkness entirely, if only for a scant moment. A torch went out, as though some great and malignant evil had snuffed out its flame. Another, too, soon vanished. Yet the most remained, slowly smouldering away.

Eventually, it came that all the lights had found. And yet, even on the verge of the galaxy eclipsing light, a darkness hid and plotted. One of the torches became stained with furious colour, spilling from its edges to infect others. Another, and another turned, until fully half became tainted. Their malign light burnt its way across the galaxy, claiming many other torches as they themselves burnt to ash. Again the galaxy was lit ablaze and it seemed as though nightmares themselves came alive. On the brink of night-fall, the golden light faltered and fell, casting out the darkness as it crashed to earth. With a weak throb, the light was placed into a brazier, and fuel was poured atop it, so as to make sure it would never truly die.

And so, the priestess gazed down upon the uncounted masses that teemed the galaxy. And she saw war.

Giants, entombed in stony armour, their souls blazing with piety. They soared above the common peoples, held aloft on jets of flame. All stood in awe, and shook with fear at their passing.

Uncounted warriors stood beside them, holding light in their hands, their coming was heralded by the screaming of thunder and lightning.

Ships, bearing small bands of heroes, stood against the darkness and dared it to pass. Their names would have stood in legend, if but anyone new their names.

Amalgam creatures, made of metal and rotten flesh, stood vigil over ancient wonders. The others were leery of them, for they alone held the key to humanity's power.

Yet, for all their valour, it was for naught. For as time slipped by, the great empire rotted from within. With barely a whisper, the structure burst apart at the seams. Darkness came once again, for the age old threat it posed. There was only blood, and rot, and the laughter of thirsting Gods.

As the priestess gazed at the darkened skies, she saw threads, innumerable threads. Spreading across time and space, they all raveled and turn and curved towards a single point. Where she stood.

She woke with a gasp.

* * *

The supplicant stood over her, holding her to stop her from falling. With a shake of her head, she pushed him away, only to stumble again, almost falling to the hard tiles. Taking a few moments to centre herself, she turned to the man. He stood bewildered, almost fearful of the woman. Glancing down at her fingers, she realized that there was a thin layer of blood coating them. On the ground itself, a few clumps of hair were scattered about. With a harsh sting, she realized her cheeks were bleeding.

"What... What happened?" She weakly questioned.

"Oh fair Oracle, you were granted a vision by the Gods. I have never seen one so violent and powerful in all my years. This must be an omen."

For all the bluster, there was truth to his words. This was an omen. But it did not seem like any vision a God might grant. However, seeing the Gods that had plagued her waking nightmare, she realized that there was no surety of that.

"Tell me, Great Oracle, what would happen if I should go to war?"

She stopped, and considered what was to be said. She would have to be vague, she could not tell him all of what she saw. She would be thrown out as a truly raving lunatic. No, she would take her vision to the grave. An answer was still needed. As her mind turned, she was struck by insight. There would be truth to her words yet.

"If you should go to battle, a great empire will fall."

 **A.N**

Thanks for reading my story! I hope you enjoyed it. Just typed this one up quickly for some shits and giggles. For the more history minded reader, I'm aware that the king of Lydia didn't actually personally go, but I thought it fit better with the story. Feel free to leave reviews and criticisms in the comments below. All is welcomed, constructive or not.


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